


Hearts Starve As Well As Bodies

by bigbidumbass



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Idealization, borderline suicide attempt, me?? projecting?? oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24351028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbidumbass/pseuds/bigbidumbass
Summary: Warning! This fic has some heavy content so please check the tags before reading!Tom wishes he could believe him, wishes he could get better.“I’m broken,” he whispers, throat tight. “I can’t feel anything.”The boy takes his hand, a soft, tender movement that halts Tom’s thoughts in their tracks.“You’re not broken,” the boy tells him.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Hearts Starve As Well As Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> "Yes, it is bread we fight for  
> But we fight for roses, too."
> 
> -— James Oppenheim

It’s the numbness that finally gets him. 

The dull, suffocating numbness within him, a bland replacement of all emotion. He feels… broken. Fucking broken. Half there, if even that.

As he blows a strand of hair out of his face, he ponders a bit. Briefly tries to remember what it was like to  _ feel _ , to live instead of dragging himself through day to day. What it was like to cry, in the days that he could. What it was like to care whether or not he was alive. But memory fails him- it falls flat and empty. Devoid.  _ Numb. _

The view is pretty, in a relative way. Tom can’t carry the passion with him anymore, but he remembers that he once cared about things like the sky. 

It’s the numbness that has him looking over the edge of the building, wondering what it would be like to throw himself off. He tells himself he’d never actually do it, but it’s tempting nonetheless. An end to all of this. No more suffering. 

Part of him is a little scared at that, the fact that he would ever consider ending his own life. It’s the single part with any sense left within him. But it’s so deep within him, so buried beneath layers of self-hatred and bone-deep exhaustion that it barely matters.

But when he looks away from the roof, he sees a boy standing there, watching him. Watching him, as if he knows the true intentions of Tom’s thoughts, as if he knows what Tom had just been considering. The boy’s eyes, piercing, make Tom feel stripped down. Vulnerable. 

Tom is almost startled, almost shocked, but once again, his feelings are buried, and he turns away. 

The next time he goes to the roof, the boy is gone. 

This time, the consideration is much more tempting, the pull is much stronger. And really, why not? What is there to stay for?

The wind is cold up here, stinging. Tom wishes he could actually feel it, feel anything fully. Would the drop hurt? How much? Would anyone miss him?

He’s almost scared- he’s trembling, and he’s a little surprised at that, though his feelings are still muddy and diluted as ever. He’s wondering if he should, he’s trying to imagine how long it would take to hit the ground, when a hand grabs his shoulder and pulls him away from the edge.

It’s the same boy from before, and he’s close enough that Tom can see the soft rosy hue the chill of the wind has given his cheeks.

“Don’t,” the boy says simply. “Come down with me.”

Tom stares at him, trying to find words that he doesn’t have. “I don’t want to,” he replies. “I want this all to end. I’m tired.”

“I know,” the boy says, “I’ve been here before. But there’s so much to live for. A million things, that you haven’t experienced yet, and beautiful things that you’ll fall in love with again. The sunrise. The smell of coffee in the morning. Please.”

Tom wishes he could believe him, wishes he could get better. 

“I’m broken,” he whispers, throat tight. “I can’t  _ feel _ anything.”

The boy takes his hand, a soft, tender movement that halts Tom’s thoughts in their tracks.

“You’re not broken,” the boy tells him. “You’re just hurt, exhausted, and your brain doesn’t know how to deal with that constantly. This isn’t permanent. Life won’t be like this forever.”

And suddenly, Tom is feeling, really  _ feeling-  _ everything from the wind in his hair, the warmth of this stranger’s hand, the sharp pain in his chest. And it all hurts, it hurts so much that he’s holding back tears, or he’s at least trying to.

“Please,” the boy repeats, and a soft, choked sob exits from Tom’s mouth as his knees go out. He hits the cold cement beneath him, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he stares out at the edge.

The boy crouches beside him, rubbing his back.

“I’m Will,” he says. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”

For the first time in years, a part of Tom believes that things might get better, and, as he follows Will off the roof, he remembers what it feels like to have someone care about him.


End file.
